


Toutou

by spiderfire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: 1823, Christmas, Dogs, Gen, Montreuil-sur-Mer, POV Outsider, almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:17:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderfire/pseuds/spiderfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas, 1822.  Valjean helps a boy and his dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toutou

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PilferingApples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilferingApples/gifts).



> For the merrymis exchange on tumblr. 
> 
> The prompt: “I’d love some stories of Valjean’s … his good years at M-Sur-M,…where he got to on those nights he went wandering the city? Anything NOT HEARTBREAKING.” For those of you who know me, that last clause is a serious stretch. Hopefully, this is close enough.

It is not uncommon to find a boy who is dirty.  It is what boys do - attract dirt so that it coats their hands and streaks their face and blots their clothes.  However, even as little boys go, Luc was downright filthy.  The greasy soot was ground into his hair so completely it was impossible to tell what color grew from his head.  His clothes were blackened and ragged.  His hands and face were grey and his toes stuck out from holes in his shoes, showing toenails that were broken and filled with dirt.

Despite this, there was a spring to his step as he wove his way through the narrow alley.  He was humming a song that the congregation had been belting out in the big church in the center of town.  He did not know the words but he had heard the tune time and time before, each year at Christmastide, and its joyous melody echoed his mood. 

With a skip, he rounded a corner and called, “Toutou! Toutou! Come see! Come see what Master Rolleaux gave us!” He held something gripped in his fist as he skipped down the alley.  “Toutou! A bowl of stew tonight! Come! See!” 

The alley was, as alleys always are, a place that collects the unwanted remains from the people who live on the front sides of the buildings.  Rags, broken furniture and the contents of chamber pots were tossed with equal disregard into the space between the buildings. 

As such, it was the best of places for Luc.  He had found an alcove, tucked out of the wind, sandwiched between two buildings. Three days ago, when he and Toutou had found the place, he had collected enough rags to make a little nest for them to share.  One side of his space was the back of a chimney and each night he sat with his back pressed against that warm wall, sharing a chunk of bread with the dog.

He slowed to a stop.  “Toutou?” he called, a trace of worry quivering in his voice.  “Toutou?  Where are you?” 

Luc began to panic.  When he came back from his day’s labors, Toutou was usually curled up in their bed, his nose tucked under his tail, asleep in a tight little ball.  When he wasn’t, when he was nosing around, hunting for mice and rats and roaches, he came running when Luc called for him, his tail held high like a little white flag.

There was no sign of him.  “Toutou!” Luc called again, terror causing his voice to crack.

The delight of today’s luck ran from him like water, replaced by a pit of worry.  Earlier today, he had knocked on door after door, asking if they needed their chimney cleaned, only to be told no, no, no. But then, he had knocked on the kitchen door of an inn across town and the man, a great rolly man with a red nose and a shiny scalp had said yes!  He told Luc that he had been waiting for a little Savoyard just like him to turn up.  He had had three separate chimneys for Luc to clean and when Luc was done he had pressed forty sous into his hand with an admonishment – come back at dinner time for a bowl of stew.  Luc had tried to protest – no, it’s too much, sir! But the man had insisted. 

When he finally heard it, the sound was quiet, almost inaudible, the terrible whine of a dog in pain.  “Toutou?” Luc asked.  “Toutou, where are you?”  He turned around and around, looking for the dog.  He picked up whatever came to hand and tossed it aside – rags, sticks, a broken chair. 

Behind a half rotten crate, he found Toutou laying flat on his side. His little body was  trembling and the white cow-spots on his side were dark colored.  In the dim twilight, it was hard to see what had happened but there was a great deal of blood around his head and he was slowly licking his left paw. 

“Oh! Toutou!” Luc cried, falling to his knees next to the little dog.  He reached out to touch the animal but as soon as he got close, a low growl came from Toutou.  The sound was deep in the dog’s throat and Toutou bared his teeth.  Almost as if he had actually been bitten, Luc snapped back his hand, tears in his eyes.  Toutou had never growled at him before!

He tried again, this time moving more slowly.  Toutou rolled his eyes, showing the whites, but this time he let Luc touch him on the side.  Slowly, carefully, Luc stroked the dog’s flank and the little dog flopped its tail against the ground. Thump. Thump. Toutou’s fur was usually silky and soft, but now it was soaked with sticky, half-dried blood. 

It was getting dark and Luc was starting to shiver.  “Toutou,” he said softly, “can you stand?”  He gently nudged the little dog and the dog whined again. Luc rummaged in his pocket, feeling the four ten-sous pieces he had been so excited about. In the other pocket, he found a hard crust he had saved from earlier.  He held it out in front of Toutou’s nose, just out of reach and the dog stretched forward, whining for the food  “Come on, Toutou,” Luc urged.  “Let’s get into the warm.”  But Toutou did not stand. 

Luc suddenly became aware that he was not alone.  He looked to his left and there was a man, crouching down next to him.  “What happened to your dog?” the man asked.

Luc shook his head, tears coming to his eyes.  “I don’t know, sir.”

The man reached out his large hand, tentatively at first and then with growing confidence, stroked the little dog’s back.  “Well, let’s see what we can do for him.” 

Luc’s eyes widened.  “Really?”

The man nodded.  “What’s his name, son?”

“Toutou,” Luc said.  “And my name is Luc.” 

The man looked at Luc.  “I am Père Madeleine. I am afraid we can’t care for him here.”   

More tears came to Luc’s eyes. “Oh, sir, please don’t take him away.”

Père Madeleine looked startled. “Oh goodness, boy, no!  You come too.”

“Oh!  Alright then. Thank you, sir!”

Père Madeleine gently scooped up the dog, cradling him easily in his arms.  Much to Luc’s surprise, while Toutou cried a bit, he did not growl at the man or snap at the hands that lifted him.  Toutou was not a large dog, but he was bigger than Luc could pick up.  The man, however, straightened almost as if he were not carrying anything.  With the dog settled, Père Madeleine set off and Luc had to half run to keep up with him. 

Luc did not really pay attention to where they were going – his eyes were glued on Toutou.  Toutou had snuggled against the man’s chest, tucking his blood-soaked head into the crook of the man’s arm.  The man did not seem to mind that the dog’s blood was soaking into his coat, or maybe he did not notice. 

They must have walked for a few minutes, but Luc did not remember any of the journey.  Suddenly, they were entering a house and he trailed Père Madeleine and Toutou up the stairs. 

When they got into the room, Père Madeleine laid Toutou down on a rug before the hearth.  Luc crumpled down next to him, stroking him and crying and telling him that it was going to be alright. 

After a few minutes, he became aware that fire was blazing and he was beginning to feel warm for the first time in hours.  The man was gone.  Toutou seemed to be asleep, breathing in slow, deep breaths. By the light of the fire, Luc could better see what was wrong with Toutou.  There was a large gash across the dog’s face, showing bone, the end of one of his ears was frayed and torn and his foot seemed to have been bitten – the skin was not broken but Toutou was holding it in a way that did not seem natural.  Looking at the little dog, tears rolled down Luc’s face.  As he stroked the dog’s back, the vivid memory of the day last summer when they had met came to him .

Luc had been on the road between Buchy and Argueil and it had been a bright, sunny day, warm but not too hot.  The only thing that could have made it better was some rain. The roads were hard-packed and dusty, which made Luc sneeze, but he’d take hard-pack dust over mud any day.  He was in a good mood. He had made some good money in Buchy, enough for almost a week of bread and stew, and the wild strawberries were getting ripe.  He sometimes found patches by the roadside and he crouched down and gobbled up the tiny red berries, the juice staining his fingers and mouth.  As he walked, he kicked at pebbles in the road.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, this little scrappy black mutt with irregular white cow patches, leaped from the side of the road only to pounce on one of the rocks that Luc had sent flying with his toes.  With a grin, Luc kicked another one and the little dog took off, charging the rock down and then turning with the rock between its paws to look at Luc, its feathery tail held high.  “You like that, doggie?” he had said, giggling.  Luc sent another rock flying, his giggles turning to outright laughter as the little dog tore down the road after it. 

The dog had followed him for the rest of the day.  When he had paused to eat strawberries, the dog had come over and nosed the plants, sniffing them with interest.  When Luc held out a berry, the dog had minutely inspected it before tentatively allowing Luc to feed it to him.   That night, when he had made himself a bed in the heather, feasting on a whole loaf of bread he had bought before he left Buchy, he had tossed chunks to the dog, who caught them out of the air.  Afterwards, the dog had wandered off then, and Luc had called after him.  “Toutou?  Doggie?”  The dog had not returned.  With a disappointed sigh, Luc lay down to sleep.  Sometime in the middle of the night, he woke to the dog licking his face.  He had groaned and rolled over.  It was not until he woke in the morning with a warm lump pressed against his back that he realized that the dog had come back. 

Since summer, the dog had come back again and again. Now he…now he…With tears in his eyes, Luc stroked Toutou’s fur and tried not to look at the gash on his face, the mess of his ear.

Luc did not know how much time passed when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and he looked up.  The man was back with a bowl of hot water and a rag.  “Luc?” he said. “I am going to wash the blood off Toutou.  Would you like to wash yourself? There is more water.”

Absently Luc nodded. Over the summer he had gone swimming in the rivers he had crossed and that wore off the worst of the grime, but it had been too cold for that for months.   The soot and dirt were accumulating and now that the man mentioned it, he was suddenly itchy. He went over to the bowl and started to scrub his hands while the man dipped the cloth in the water and gently started to wash Toutou. 

When Luc was clean, or at least when he had given up on trying to get cleaner, he went back over and folded himself on the floor next to Père Madeleine.  He watched as the man continued to wash the dog’s face, working off the dried blood.  It was a long time before he was done.  As he worked, Toutou cried softly and Luc said, “You are hurting him.” 

Père Madeleine nodded.  “A bit, but it will hurt him worse if we don’t get it clean.  When I’m done, we’ll put a poultice on it and see how he is doing in the morning.”

Luc’s eyes widened suddenly in panic, feeling for the coins in his pocket.  “How much will that cost?” he asked. “I can pay…”

Père Madeleine just shook his head, not looking up from his work.  “No cost.  Not for a fine dog like this.” 

“Are you sure, sir?” Luc asked. 

Père Madeleine met Luc’s eyes.  The man’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he smiled at the boy. Then the man looked back down at the dog and re-wet the rag.  He started working on another spot. “You do not know who I am, then?” he asked. 

Luc frowned and shook his head. “Should I know you, sir?”

“For years, whenever a boy like you came through town, not a boy with a dog, but a Savoyard, I would be sure to send for him.  There was once a boy I met…I have been trying to find him, but, that was far away and long ago.  I dare say, he would have settled down with some innkeeper’s daughter by now.”  The man lifted the dog’s ear, and worked on the blood on the underside.  “There was a string of Savoyards through here this last summer, all who came to town specifically because they had heard that I was good for a coin or two.”  Père Madeleine looked up at him, his eyes crinkled and amused.  “Never has my chimney been so clean.”  Then he shrugged.  “I figured you had heard.”

Luc frowned, trying to remember if he had heard of the man, or this town before, but he shook his head.  “No sir.  I am new on the roads. I don’t know many boys.” 

Père Madeleine nodded as he examined his work.  “What got you started?”

Luc shrugged.  “My mom had another baby and I thought I could help out, earn some money.”  He looked down at Toutou, sadly.  “It has not worked out that well. I have not brought any money back to her.  At least she does not have to feed me, too.” 

“Where are you from?”

“Noroy-sur-Ourcq, in Aisne.  No one has ever heard of it.” 

Père Madeleine looked startled and he sat back on his heels.  “You don’t say? Noroy-sur-Ourcq?” 

Luc looked at him. “You have heard of it?” he asked in surprise. 

Père Madeleine laughed. “You could say that.  Say, who are your parents?” 

The boy frowned.  “My father, his people are the Cresnes.”

“The ones who own that orchard on the boarder with Faverolles?” 

Luc frowned.   _Who was this man?_  he asked himself but he answered aloud, “I think they used to, back ten years or so.  Blight took the trees, or bugs, or something. It was before I was born.”

“And your mother?”

Luc shrugged.  “She says she has no family.  She does not talk about where she comes from.”

Père Madeleine looked at him thoughtfully and Luc felt almost as if the probing eyes were searching him for something.  Abruptly, Père Madeleine stood, picking up the bowl of bloody water.  He carried it over to the window and dumped it out.  Changing the subject, he said, “Let’s make that poultice.”

Luc watched as Père Madeleine put a mix of herbs in a bowl.  “Burdock,” Père Madeleine explained.  “And yarrow and sage.”  He poured steaming water over the herbs and covered it with a plate.  “We’ll let that cool a bit.”  Luc watched with wide eyes, wondering where the man learned this.  Then, Père Madeleine asked, “Are you hungry?”  

Suddenly, he was starving. He had not noticed before.  His stomach growled.

Père Madeleine laughed as he lifted a lid off another bowl that was sitting by the fire, “Madame Jasteaux brought me more than I can eat.  Would you share it with me?”

Luc nodded again.  He looked at Toutou, but the little dog seemed to be sleeping, curled with his tail under his nose.  It was the most normal position Luc had seen him in all night.  “Thank you, sir.” 

Père Madeleine split the soup into two bowls and held out a bowl to Luc.  Luc took it and sat on the hearth with his back to the fire. The man sat in a chair facing the fire. 

As Luc ate, he looked around the room. He was in and out of a lot of rooms, sweeping chimneys, and this one seemed very plain. A heavy wooden bed.  A chest of drawers. A writing desk.  The rug by the fire.  The chair.  The only ornamentation was a crucifix that hung over the mantle and two heavy silver candlesticks that flanked it, gleaming in the firelight. 

While they were eating, Père Madeleine asked, “Why did you not go home for Christmas?” 

Luc shrugged.  “I had nothing to bring, and I have wandered such a long way from Aisne.”

Père Madeleine said nothing in reply. He just stared in the fire, his expression distant.

When they were done eating, Père Madeleine took his bowl and tested the water with the herbs in it.  “I think this is about ready,” he said.  “Here is your job, Luc.”

Luc looked up at him. “What do I do?” 

“Leave this bowl here on the hearth so it stays warm.  Take this rag, soak it in the water and put it, dripping, on Toutou’s head.  When it gets cold, you put it back in the warm water and do it again.  Think you can do that?” 

Luc nodded. 

“Good. You and Toutou are going to sleep by the fire tonight. In the morning we will see how he is.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

The man shrugged.  “Time will tell.  He seems to be a healthy little thing so that’s in his favor.”

Luc nodded again.   _Yes!_  Toutou was healthy.  When they had first started travelling together, the little dog had been so skinny and his coat had been dusty and dull. Recently, the dog’s ribs stopped showing and his fur had taken on a shine in the sun. “Oh, thank you, sir,” he exclaimed.

Père Madeleine stood and picked up his coat. 

“Where are you going, sir?” Luc asked.

“Midnight Mass,” he replied.  Luc frowned as Père Madeleine went on. It could not be much past eight or nine.  “It is Christmas night, after all.  But first, I will visit the sick in the hospital.  It is a sorry time to be sick.”

“Oh.”

And then he was gone. 

For hours, it seemed, Luc tended to Toutou. Then he fell into a fitful sleep, curled up with the dog. 

Much later, he woke to the soft pink tongue licking his face.  He opened his eyes and gasped.  Toutou’s face was frightful.  The gash showed clear through to the bone, and the side of his face was swollen but the dog did not seem to mind.  He was wagging his tail something fierce, with his tongue lolling out to the side. 

With a grin, Luc wrapped the dog in a hug.  “Toutou!” he exclaimed. Toutou whimpered when Luc inadvertently touched something that hurt. Luc let him go. 

The dog wagged his tail some more, licking Luc’s hands. 

Luc sat up and the dog stood, holding his front paw awkwardly, but still wagging. 

Across the room, Luc heard a noise and saw Père Madeleine was awake, laying on his side, up on one arm, and watching them.   He laughed. “So, it is good news, this Christmas morn?” 

Luc nodded.  “Oh, yes sir!”

Three days later, Luc and Toutou were back on the road.  He had wanted to leave the day before, but there had been a storm that had dropped cold rain and slushy snow. Père Madeleine’s fire had been too tempting to leave.  Toutou still looked something fearsome, but he was healing.  Whatever had been wrong with his foot seemed to have righted itself because the dog was walking with only the slightest of limps.  Père Madeleine had pressed him to stay, but the road called to him. He was walking west.  Maybe in a month, he would make it back home. 

Père Madeleine had given him a pack with the medicine for Toutou and some food.  At mid-day, he found a sunny flat rock where the sun had melted the snow away.  Sitting on the rock, he rummaged through the pack to find some food.  Down, near the bottom, he found a small pouch that jingled. He dumped it out in his hands and his eyes widened.  Whole francs.  Twenty of them, he counted.

Shaking his head in amazement, Luc carefully tucked the pouch back into his pack.  What a fine gift for his mother! Père Madeleine was the nicest man he had ever met! 

He called Toutou over and together they shared a hunk of bread.   

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to Blueberry, who shares nothing with Toutou, except the fact that he was my first dog. I miss you, Blue. Rest in peace.


End file.
